


Help Girl, Ghosts are Real

by karmicpunishment



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ghosts, Light Angst, Occult, Possession, Slight Non-Consensual Stuff (Possession), Wilbur's Ghost Stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28725129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmicpunishment/pseuds/karmicpunishment
Summary: Maybe doing a drunk, ghost hunting stream at Midnight in an empty office building wasn't the best idea. Well, Wilbur's never claimed to make good choices.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson (minor)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47





	Help Girl, Ghosts are Real

Maybe streaming a séance at midnight in an empty office building wasn’t the best idea. Maybe streaming a séance at midnight in an empty office building while slightly tipsy off of wine wasn’t the best idea. Maybe streaming a séance at midnight in an empty office building while slightly tipsy off of wine and with no one but a camera and an online audience for company wasn’t the best idea. Oh well, Wilbur never claimed to have good ideas. At least not while wine drunk and sleep deprived at midnight. He idly wondered if maybe he should have invited someone, one of his roommates or Niki or even someone just on a Discord call. Maybe it would make this a bit less lonely, and the shadowy walls of his office building a little less spooky. Not that he was scared no sir. Why would he be scared? His door was locked, the alarms were on and ghosts weren't real. The worst that could happen is him saying something stupid on stream or spilling wine on his new jumper. Not exactly world ending. 

His fingers fumbled over cords, the chill of the office warring with the warmth of the wine in his stomach, fingers frigid and slightly stiff. Eventually he got there, set up achieved and Twitch open and ready. Absently he noted Phil was still streaming. Rather late for him, maybe he’d pop in later, say some cryptic or stupid shit and make chat go wild. That would be fun. Prepping a song and a smile, he started his stream. Taking a few breaths and a quick scan to make sure everything was in order as his waiting screen glowed on his monitor, Wilbur fixed on his “stream face” and readied himself for an eventful stream. Even if ghosts weren’t real (they weren’t) and nothing happened (it wouldn’t), he was sure the viewers would find something to scream about. They always did. 

“Hello chat! Welcome to a very special stream,” A smile stretched across his face as responses began to fly by, the excitement palpable in the rapid use of emotes and highlighted chats, far too fast for his tired eyes to read. “As you may have read in the title or gleaned from the spooky atmosphere” here he wiggled his fingers and danced his eyebrows up and down for effect, “Today I will be hunting ghosts! Or I would if ghosts were real, but since they are not, I will just be calling into the void and hoping for a response. Oh don’t worry I will be perfectly polite, I would rather prefer not to be possessed if it turns out I’m wrong. Though I probably am not wrong.” He chuckled, watching the chat out of the corner of his eye, some angry at his lack of belief, some agreeing with his cavalier attitude, some expressing worry over the whole thing. “Don’t worry, to all you believers in chat, I will be on my very best behavior. I will do my very best not to anger any spirits that may be haunting my office building. So calm your beating hearts and settle down. Thank you for the concern though, it is greatly appreciated.” 

Bending down to pick up his equipment, he sat back up and flashed it to the camera with a smile. “This here, as many of you probably know, is an EMP. for detecting energy levels or whatever and this in my other hand, is what people have taken to calling a ‘Spirit Box’ which by going through radio waves and channels, will allow any spirits to communicate with me. If any of them deign to conversate with little ‘ol me.” He fiddled with the box for a second, turning it on and set to the right setting (he hoped, he hadn’t been paying the best attention to the instructions) and grinned up at his camera. 

“Well stream, here we go.” He flicked the switch on the side of the box, and almost dropped it as an unholy screech sounded from it, before beginning to rapidly switch through channels, a cacophony of sound emerging from the tiny box. Shit. He hoped it didn’t sound as bad to chat as it did in person. That’d be hell on his poor chat’s ears. Looking at his screen he could see his chat dramatically wailing about the noise and winced. “Oh shit. Sorry chat, didn’t expect it to be that loud. Probably should have tested it before starting the stream, my bad.” A strange noise from the box drew his attention. 

“Hello?” A voice, crackling and broken, reached through the static of the switching channels. Music from commercials and radio stations flitted in the background but the voice clearly came through. “Are you listening to me?” An uneasy feeling rippled down Wilburs spine as chat went wild on the screen next to him. The voice seemed to creep into his ears, an icy chill stretching its fingers over his brain. His stomach churned uncomfortably, the wine sitting heavy as a shiver racks his frame. 

An uncertain chuckle forced out of his throat, and he turned to smile at his camera, eyes flitting back to the box every other moment. A voice in his mind seemed to warn against taking his eyes off the box. “Well, I sure am listening now, ey chat?” The dark of his office seemed stifling now, the fuzzy edges of the room hiding secrets his mind feared as the voice reverberated around him. A dono pinged at the corner of his screen, a worried message popping up,  _ Be careful! Wouldn’t want to get possessed, would not be pog champ.  _ A small smile sat upon his lips, a reassurance and quip ready before a noise reverberated through the room.

“Listen to me.” The voice called out, through the static, slicing through the dark and grasping his attention. It was layered and loud, unidentifiable in any meaningful way. Neither male nor female, young nor old, just a voice, cold and possessive. 

“I am listening,” He responded and it’s true. He felt like that's all he could do. His stream felt like a distant memory, noise from another realm. He felt like he was underwater, the only noise that mattered was the voice which cut through the dark and shadow and wine haze. His voice reached his ears, delayed and scattered. Distantly he noted, it didn’t sound like his own.

“Good,” the voice purred, slow and steady and dripping sweet, “Just focus on me darling.” And he did. It was all he could do. A shiver raked down his spine, the feeling like an icy grip on his neck holding his focus on the box, on the voice, on the  _ spirit speaking to him.  _ The words reverberated in his mind, settling deep into his bones. Despite the cold, he couldn’t help but feel comforted. The dulcet tone soothed any worries he had, grasped the chill in his veins and held tight, phantom fingers a comforting presence. “There you are. You are doing so well.” He was? He was so glad. All he wanted was to do well. To listen. If he listened to the voice hard enough he could almost pretend the words brought warmth instead of a chill. Could almost pretend he didn’t feel adrift in a snowbank, burning cold and frozen solid, the only available grip on the ice coming the distant voice whose drawl rooted between his ears. 

The room had dulled around him, the glow of his screen faded and the flood of words coming in a blur, meaningless and void of substance, his focus pulled onto the box in his hand, interest gone from anything else. He couldn’t feel anything but the chilled metal in his rapidly numbing hands. He didn’t need to. This was all that mattered. 

“Darling?” 

The voice spoke again, the only warmth to be found in the arctic wasteland he’d found himself in. 

“Yes?”

Another voice responded, small and weak. Distantly he noted it was his own. It was getting harder to tell the difference between the two. 

“I need you to do just one more thing for me.” He could almost see the owner of voice now, spectral hands coming up to cup his face, a frozen touch sealing the ice on his skin. He would have leaned into the phantom touch if he could move from this spot, if he could do more than listen to the melody in his mind and the fractal crystals of snow in his veins.

“Anything.” He would do anything.   
“Let me in.” And he did. And the world faded and his eyes shut and Wilbur Soot knew no more. 

\-------------------------

Midnight was a little late for Philza to be streaming, a bit outside of his schedule but here he was. Working on his latest build and chatting with his chat. It was nice and relaxing and utterly normal, if not a bit later than average. A little notification caught his eye, “ _ Wilbur Soot is Streaming!” _ and he stifled a chuckle. Figures Wil would be the one to start streaming at midnight. Maybe he’d raid him after he was done, if he was still streaming of course. Wilbur was unpredictable in this way, sometimes he’d stream for hours and hours, and sometimes 40 minutes. He hoped, for his friend's sleep schedule’s sake, that this would be closer to the latter. He played some more, finishing up a section of the build and answering some text-to-speak questions, all utterly the norm for a stream. A few messages in chat caught his eye with Wilbur's name featured in them, but honestly that was quite normal as well so he shrugged it off. Probably some new cursed lore or a bit of a new song he dropped or something like that. So he thought nothing of it. Until one specific message came up.   


_ “ _ _ Philza Minecraft go get your son, i think he’s either having a seizure or doing a weird bit.”  _ He chuckled, if a bit for chats sake, and shook his head. 

“I’m sure he’s just doing a bit again chat, you know how he is.” But he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread tickling the back of his mind. It was probably nothing, he could reason again and again in his mind but nothing but confirmation of Wilbur's safety would truly assuage the fear curdling in his stomach. Chat was moving at light speed since the message came in, dozens and dozens of worried messages and theories and emoji spams. More Text-to-Speak filtered it,

_“What's wrong with Wilbur?”_ _  
__“I think he’s dying”_ _  
___“This is what he gets for doing a ghost stream”

_ “Guys it's obviously a bit, chill out” _

For some reason he couldn’t shake, he highly doubted the last message. He said a few more reassuring words and read off some final messages before ending his stream. He pulled out his phone and a flood of discord messages rolled in, ones from a bunch of different people from Niki to Techno to Dream, hell even Schlatt seemed to have sent a message or two. Scrolling through he found the common threads —concern and worry, all aimed at Wilbur, but to no avail. He hadn’t responded to any messages, hadn’t tweeted anything, had shown no sign of life and the quality of it since his stream ended (and ended abruptly as anyone could see, a startling stop closing with chilling words coming from a crackling box and black screen. Only some slight breathing can be heard from the pitch black screen as whoever (or whatever) is behind the camera figures out how to end the stream). People on twitter had gotten several tags trending about it already, but the common senses seemed to be it was a joke or some kind of weird bit, or even a promo for a future project. But his friends knew differently. As hours went by and no response came in, and his roommates reported he hadn’t come back home, they knew. Something was wrong. 

**Author's Note:**

> honestly idk why i wrote this lmao
> 
> lemme know if you want more of this i guess haha  
> please validate me with comments if you liked it 
> 
> if you wanna scream about ideas with me join the writers block discord here:  
> https://discord.gg/vcJssPMcyQ


End file.
